


Choices

by littledebbiecakes



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Modern Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-30 22:54:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3954967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littledebbiecakes/pseuds/littledebbiecakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco never had choices.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Choices

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short little thing I wrote one day (I think 4am) when I was extremely bored.

Sometimes, Draco Malfoy insists that he can be a normal functioning patron of society. He could do without his father’s words dripping like acid through the back of his distorted mind, he could be civil, although the haunty, twisted look on his face could never truly be erased. On most mornings, when the sun’s rays barely press against his bullet proof, ceiling to floor windows, he’d inspect his face, trying to will a softness that did not exist. After the passing of Narcissa, his biological mother and wife number 2, the soft, boyish features were distorted and erased, replaced with an almost frightening likeness to his father. Lucius Malfoy would be proud, exceedingly so, to know that his verbally abusive tendencies had created an obedient monster in their wake. 

His enchanted mirror would reveal a smiling Draco, one full of life and a happy storm in his eyes; it was a beautifully disgusting trick that left the platinum blonde feeling sicker deep down in his core and beneath the walls he’d built and constructed out of titanium. He’d learned from an early age never to give caution to the wind; everything done must be in support of his family and their cause. The Dark Lord would rise again and he would be one of the lucky few to follow in his footsteps, to destroy anyone in their way as they crusaded to recreated a world in their image. Lucius Malfoy’s words, not his own. 

There was not an honest bone in his body; he could attest to that by the filing cabinet full of lies in his office. There is a reason he’d found his place in the ministry so easily at the budding age of twenty. There is also a reason for the lack of contact that met him. People feared his father’s political influence and his rich, pure-blood status. No one ever asked his thoughts on it, though, because who could ever suspect that Draco Malfoy was disgusted with himself and the way he lived his life? He’ll admit, he is selfish, greedy, full of lust and gluttony for things that interest him, but that is Draco Malfoy’s nature. He takes and takes without giving back because why should he? There was never a reason to give thought to the people whose lives he destroyed on a daily basis-- until Harry Potter, full of life and joy and and aching need to be protected and cared for and potentially loved, literally walked into him. 

It would be much later that Draco realized he was undeniably and excruciatingly fucked. 

Harry Potter had no where else to go, or live, for that matter. His mates Hermione and Ron were settling down to finally begin a family life they deserved and that meant he could no longer be the eternal third wheel between them. His uncle, to Dracoy’s internal dismay, Albus Dumbledore was much too busy to put him up for the next few months while he returned to college to decided on a life choice; Draco scoffed at the thought, such a muggle thing to do. How unprepared and tactless, but he held his tongue. The emerald eyed boy’s parents had long since passed, he spoke of them with a smile on his face and Draco wondered how much pain was hidden in the curve of those lips, in the depth of his bright white soul, because Draco Malfoy knew purity when he saw it. 

It was a purity he wished to ruin, to smudge out and conquer and control until he grew bored. With a hint of a smile, Draco was all too welcoming of Harry Potter into his penthouse, into his life. The fact that he was closely related to Albus Dumbledore, the greatest wizard of the time, mattered very little even if his father would be all too willing of using the obvious muggle to his advantage. Even Draco was rather surprised at how easily he ushered the male into his home without suspicion or struggle or having a wand pulled out and pointed at his face. 

With work growing in importance, it had been a while since the blonde had company of some sort, and watching the dark haired male inspect the wide expanse of the living room with wide, surprised eyes, was almost pleasing even if it was not a precursor to other activities. Ignoring the odd twist in his chest at the sight, Potter resembled a boy discovering a candy store and looking through new treats he never knew existed, Draco sank into his expensive Persian couch to watch, his grey eyes following the movements of the lanky young adult. He managed to pull an age out of the other, ironically twenty, but upon questioning about his elusive and old uncle, Harry knew nothing. 

He had the cruciatus curse on the tip of his tongue, but Harry had turned to him, his face an open book revealing too many feelings, his mouth curve into a much too boyish smile, that the heavy word dived back down his throat like a heavy lead. He tossed on his most inviting countenance, black yet expectant, and found his tone softer than it usually would be. Rare, because at work, he was brooding and hissing and glaring, his father earned uptight respect and strained understanding, and his mother had been given the right to interact with the boy Draco used to be. And now this, this Harry Potter. Draco had a feeling he would grow to hate himself more by the time Harry Potter was finished infiltrating his empty shell and planting a seed. 

Suddenly, it dawned on the business man one day at the breakfast table that he had rarely used. It was a few months into their makeshift arrangement to become roommates while Potter glued the broken edges of his life back together. Harry had burnt toast and bacon and Draco refused to let anymore of his perishable items go to waste for some bloody breakfast. He took over, easily producing edible food and sitting down across from the darked haired boy. It was only after he had taken a bite of his toast that he realized this was not Draco Malfoy sitting at the table eating breakfast as if he lived a normal life full of normal mishap and dashes of happiness. He didn’t know who he was, because Harry smiled at him across the table and he realized that he was already in too deep. 

Much too deep. 

Nothing in Draco Malfoy’s life had come easy, emotionally at least. He was born with a pure-blood silver spoon in his mouth and given all of the things that his small, snobbish and greedy heart desired and he had grown to become someone despicable. He was used to having his way through fear and intimidation, hate and respect. Harry Potter knew little of him and he shared small, non essential pieces of himself that he could easily toss at anyone. He knew nothing of Draco’s magic and mayhem and the blood he’d spilled since the shiny age of 16. Harry had once asked about the dark mark, Draco bit back a smile at that, plastered to his arm and Draco shrugged and went on to explain it was on a whim. He left out Lord Voldemort’s name or the mention of Hogwarts and betrayal and Slytherins and the fact that he was a wizard. It was funny in a sad way; his father would have no qualms with killing him if he knew that he housed a muggle who he may or may not have grown too attached to over the passing months spent in close proximity. It was unfair, but life had never been a fan of Draco Malfoy and the struggle to contain his identity and sense of self in a world paved for him. His father wanted him to be a clone, a soldier for the dark lord, and Draco? Draco didn’t know what he wanted, but he didn’t want this. 

For the first time in a very long time, Draco felt guilt as he tore into his toast; the way Harry’s eyes crinkled at the corners must’ve been illegal in six different provinces and several countries because it was, dare he say, stunning? It was bright and green and if he stared long enough, Draco knew that he’d grow lost in them. He wanted to, honestly. He wanted to possibly brush his lips over those delicate eyelids and drag them over those plump, much too boyish cheeks, and let his tongue softly prod against that strong jaw before nibbling and suckling and-- Draco shook his head stood, swallowing once before turning to leave. He missed the small frown stuck on Harry’s face at the loss of contact. 

He could make Harry forget about him. He could leave him delirious and oblivious and thinking that the months spent with him were all a pretty, fanciful dream, but he could make Harry love him. He could make him drink a love potion so strong that the other would be completely and utterly devoted to him, as if he already weren’t. They had grown closer than the heir had predicted; yes, he’d tried to keep Harry out of his titanium walls, but it was hard when the boy moved through them, a beacon of light in the dark of his thoughts that ate him up in the middle of the night. He could lie to Harry and the other would believe him with a smile on his face before insisting on watching some silly film together or a documentary because Harry had an odd fascination with owls. Draco eventually bought him one of his own, Hedwig, and Harry had hugged him tightly, too tightly, and Draco believed he may have fallen harder then. 

They had grown close, much too close, and suddenly, touches were lingering, eyes were meeting in the middle of the day, and the dam Draco had built on the selfish, pratty side of himself splintered and snapped. It was a Tuesday, he could remember because Harry only let Hedwig fly around the neighborhood to stretch her wings on those days, leaving the two of them lazily resting on the couch that Harry called too pretty almost every other weekend. Silly, but it was always able to draw a semblance of a smile from the usually uptight Malfoy and he felt relaxed and terrifyingly vulnerable. Slowly, Harry had chipped away the outer layer of his foundation and protection and there was nothing Draco could do but accept it, revel in it, and pray that he wouldn’t destroy the purest thing he’d ever come across in his life. 

The television was simply background noise to fill in the silence when Harry turned his head to stare at his side profile. Draco could feel a small tremor unwittingly run down his bone straight spine at the truth in those eyes. He refused to give in to instinct to look back because then it would happen-- he would snap and devour and steal away the only twinkle of happiness that walked into him one chilly day. 

“Draco..?” For a man of twenty, Harry Potter had obviously never reached puberty because there was no true bass in his voice. He may have had muscle from high school sports and tall enough to be taken seriously, but there was something too delicate about him to Draco. Perhaps it was because Draco had witnessed the strongest of the strong fall prey to dark, twisted intentions, and even the frail and weak be tortured into killers. But there was something about Harry that was different; he was still soft and lean, but Draco was still taller and could look down on him if he saw fit. 

He gave in, the ache in his chest telling him to, and turned his head to look back at Harry, his grey eyes clouded with uncertainty and fear. No one else would ever see him so frazzled, his mind torn between want and need. He needed to stand and leave, but he wanted to stay and hold and be as possessive as he had always been. Harry Potter knew nothing of the monster he was dangling himself in front of; he was the perfect prey. Only a moment passed before green orbs turned soft and that lean body shifted closer and he’s moving too slow and Draco was never one for patience. He reached and curled his fingers into Harry’s shirt to carefully pull him closer until their legs bumped. It was simply a matter of maneuvering their heads before leaning in and letting the electric tension explode into an open flame between their mouths. Harry grew pliant and agreeable the moment Draco’s tongue brushed over the soft seam of his lips and pushed inside, rough yet thorough, the small noises buzzing from Potter’s throat too much of a turn on for him to think straight. 

His fingers loosened from the much too large shirt, and he’s stifling a groan because the shirt is his and it’s been too long since he’d allowed himself the intimate act of kissing. Harry holds onto his shirt, his body relaxed and trembling from the pleasure tingling down to his toes from the kiss. Draco brought his hand up to cup the back of his head, long fingers digging into thick dark locks and grasping on as he pushed Harry’s face closer, drinking in the sickeningly sweet taste that he’s ever come across as his tongue lavished Potter’s mouth. There’s the brutally clumsy movement of mouths and a steady stream of noises, mostly Potter, definitely Potter, and it’s not Draco’s fault that he’s too trusting and too willing and too much to handle. All it takes for a kiss for Draco Malfoy to come to terms with the fact that yes, he’s going to destroy Harry Potter’s life and he’s probably not going to feel an ounce of guilt over it, except he does. As they kiss and caress, there’s a stabbing pain in his chest because this is wrong on too many levels. Harry is just a muggle with no where to go and he’s living with someone who has him in constant danger from the magical world and from his disgusting wants. 

Harry deserved better, happiness, and a stable life. He should have bumped into someone normal, human and humane. This was just temporary absence of sanity. 

Anyone would be proud of him if they knew the struggles of living with Harry Potter and the insistent want to taint his pale skin with bruises and bites that would last for days on end. And they would be even prouder that he didn’t. Every kiss that left Harry breathless and flushed with a dizzy twinkle in his eye was enough to satisfy him. It would have to be because he couldn’t do it, not with the way he was. 

As the saying goes, all good things come to an end. Unknowingly, Draco had internally decided that he could live like this, hiding who he truly was from the one person who seemed to accept him and his profound flaws and from the world that knew him as a cold blooded killer. He had decided that being split and torn and shredded up was alright as long as Harry was happy and safe and smiling that bloody adorable smile of his. He’d started college, but even then, the thought of moving out had never been discussed or mention, not when they were too busy finding moments of silence to fill with kisses that held untold stories. 

His mark had begun to ache. At first, it was small, barely noticeable, but by the end of the week, faking a smile for Harry before sending him off to college was easy before he was writhing on the floor in unimaginable pain. The voice that accompanied the pain had been shut off and locked away, he didn’t want to hear it or have it ruin his perfect bubble of imperfection. 

“Kill him.” 

Lucius Malfoy’s curt voice whispered to him through the mark that all tied them to the dark lord. Draco could feel pinpricks of tears forming in his eyes from the pain itself and the crumbling of his innards. 

“Do it, Draco. Kill him and I will forgive you for this.. disgusting madness. I’ve let you play pretend for too long and the Dark Lord doesn’t take kindly to being forgotten. Kill him by nightfall or suffer the consequences.” He could never defy his father, even if his blood boiled at the thought of anyone causing blood to spill from the only person he cared for in the entire world. But to kill Harry? To never seen that silly smile or hear him talk about his pratty friends or to witness his clumsy tendencies or even how he cared so much for Hedwig? Or to stay up into the middle of the night to talk about any and everything? 

There was no way around it. Draco picked himself back up from the floor, sweat sticking his bangs to his forehead as his eyes continued to water and sting. He panted heavily, the pain from his mark echoing throughout his body as he tried to focus past the pain between his brows. He could barely take in air, his breathing escalating as he tried to calm down his erratically beating heart. There had to be a way out of this, he could- they could- 

They couldn’t and he knew it. Having Harry with him would always leave him endangered and loving him would do the same. Before Harry arrived, Draco shut down the emotions flooding his system, turned off a switch Potter had jammed up somehow and fell back into his twisted shell of destruction. His wand was ready in his pocket when Harry entered their penthouse, yes theirs because they were there together and Draco had given him free reign over everything inside a long time ago. He watched the other toe off his shoes and drop his backpack before their eyes met, clouded grey meeting deep set emerald. Draco looked away and inhaled while Harry stepped closer, a pleasant smile on his face. 

The smile was soon replaced by a confused expression when Draco embraced him, hugging him tight to his firm chest and refusing to let go, even when Harry asked him if anything was wrong. Draco merely shook his head, silence was so like him so Harry wasn’t surprised, but then he was being crushed, lips ghosting over the top of his head. Harry leaned into the touch, enjoyed it too much to ask for anything else, but then Draco let go and- what? What’s that word he’s saying? Obli-- 

Draco closed his eyes, his frame shaking as he visibly paled, feeling much worse than his sixth year at Hogwarts, at what he had to do to survive for himself and his family, and he barely pressed his wand against Harry from where it stood in his pocket, his voice soft. 

“Obliviate.” 

.x. 

Tuesday, he let Hedwig out of her cage and attached a small note to her foot, an almost fond look growing in his eyes as he stared at her snow white and black speckled fur. He would miss her, the only reminder of him that he had wanted to hold onto. 

“Find him and watch over him.” He ordered, earning a chirp of noise before she took off through the opened wind, the note securely attached to her leg with one simple word. 

“Always.”


End file.
